


An Ancient Legend

by Nynaeve



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angry Warrior, Angst, Episode Related, F/M, Fairy Tales, Forgiveness, Legends, Morality, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-21
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nynaeve/pseuds/Nynaeve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An angry warrior searches for peace. Will he ever find it? Written for the LiveJournal comm fictionland; challenge: Once Upon A Time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N: Written for the LiveJournal comm 'fictionland' challenge "Once Upon A Time". We were to create a fairy tale, fanfic or original. The three requirements were: magic, a happy ending, and a lesson learned. I chose to take the "Angry Warrior" legend and turn it into a fic. The result is something so fluffy you might not believe I wrote it! My only admonition is to not look for one to one correlation between the show and the people. The tribe and traditions are a bastardization of what we get in Trek and my own creation, so any resemblances to real tribes is purely coincidental and not intended to offend. As usual, I worked to keep the heart and soul of the characters even as they are in a situation wholly different from our beloved show. Read, review, but most importantly, enjoy._

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _I'm not sure I can 'define parameters'. But I can tell you a story, an ancient legend among my people. It's about an angry warrior who lived his life in conflict with the rest of his tribe. A man who couldn't find peace, even with the help of his spirit guide. For years he struggled with his discontent. The only satisfaction he ever got came when he was in battle. This made him a hero among his tribe, but the warrior still longed for peace within himself. One day, he and his war party were captured by a neighboring tribe led by a woman warrior. She called on him to join her because her tribe was too small and weak to defend itself from all its enemies. The woman warrior was brave, and beautiful. And very wise. The angry warrior swore to himself that he would stay by her side, doing whatever he could to make her burden lighter. From that point on, her needs would come first. And in that way, the warrior began to know the true meaning of peace._ "  
> -Chakotay to Kathryn Janeway "Resolutions" _Star Trek: Voyager_

The warrior took aim with his spear, approaching the deer with light feet and calculated motions. This was the moment he thrived on; the moment when he exerted his will and won. His father had often told him that such bloodlust was to be avoided. The other hunters said prayers to the spirits asking for there to be no ill effects on their souls as they ended the life of another. Chakotay had no such illusions. He gave lip service and then prowled through the trees in search of prey.

The foliage provided camouflage as he dodged in and around. He narrowed in on the lithe creature and internally counted off. In a blur he'd pierced the skin. The deer fell with minimal effort and he took care in extracting his weapon. He called to his party, two men and one woman painted in browns and earthen reds, to assist in retrieving the carcass.

"There's not much daylight left, we need to return to camp," Ayala observed, hefting half the dead deer onto his shoulder while his brother Gerron helped. "We don't want to be ambushed by the Cardassians."

At the mention of their enemy, Chakotay stood and looked west, the seeds of an idea taking root. A war party such as his would be noticed, but he alone wouldn't. If he was swift and soundless he could...

"Don't even think about it," B'Elanna hissed. She was the lone female warrior strong enough to raid with a spear alongside of the men and she took that position seriously. "If you go, I go."

"Which would defeat the entire point," he shot back. "You try my patience."

Ayala chuckled and the two glanced over at him with raised eyebrows. He shifted his weight and shrugged with his free shoulder. "If there were ever any doubt that you two were siblings, they would only have to travel a fraction of a parsec."

"Let's just get the hell out of here," Chakotay groused and they made their way back to the village. The walk was uneventful, much to his chagrin, and the small children that came to greet them with shouts of praise only served to stoke the fire in his veins. He tossed his gear down and stalked towards the one-room clay building he had practically built himself. The kill had been unsatisfactory, too easy, and his arms twitched for an actual fight.

The Cardassians had been encroaching on the Maquis territory. Five hunting parties had been lost in the last month and worse yet the bodies had been desecrated. The men had been flayed and strung up on branches, left to rot or be eaten by scavengers. From what they could tell of the female hunting party, they had been violated; whether before or after was the knowledge of the spirits. Among the dead women had been his betrothed.

He had vowed revenge while standing over her grave.

Outside the abode the village was bustling; inside Chakotay pulled out his medicine bundle. The rage was a rattlesnake coiled in his stomach and he wanted to be free. Once the Cardassians had their blood let from their necks, then he could rest. Seeking his spirit guide was useless, she rarely met him anymore. Even so, he sought her with whatever piece of his soul remained unsullied by hatred. The tiny sliver of his heart cried out that there had to be another way. He recited the words to take him to the spirit realm.

Silence.

He tried again and found that his bitterness became louder and more pronounced. Unable to meditate any longer he grabbed his medicine bundle and scattered its contents. A pottery shard from an urn his beloved had made; a stone from the river that his father had given to him when he had become a man; a tooth from his first hunt; the herbs that made his spirit quest possible. All of it was strewn as he sank onto his bed of furs in anguish.

They hailed him as a hero when he slain six Cardassians single-handedly, but that same passion made him a volatile companion. No one would come to check on him. He was guaranteed to be undisturbed in his gnarled existence. As the reverie in the village climaxed and then subsided, Chakotay fell into a fitful slumber.

His dreams tormented him. He could see the back of his spirit guide, tufts of white fur on her underbelly amid a sea of orange with dark paws. He ran faster, his spear in hand. She was elusive, the bitch. When he pleaded for clarity, she gave him none. Through the trees, over hard rocks and slippery moss, he gave chase. Suddenly, the smell of burnt flesh hit him and his dark eyes shot open.

"Chakotay, wake up you fool!"

The voice of his sister yanked him from the nightmare realm he'd been trapped in. Heat and flames covered his vision and he scrambled towards B'Elanna who had braved finding him. She grabbed his hands, pulling him up, and he coughed from the fumes.

"What the hell happened?" he called over the din of shouting. They cleared his house and stumbled into the village center.

From the shadows stepped a man with a necklace of teeth. _Human_ teeth, Chakotay realized. His eyes were fixed on the Maquis warrior and he was brandishing a blade that was a brilliant silver marked with fresh, black blood. Chakotay's gaze dropped to the teeth-man's feet where he recognized with horror his father's form, lifeless and slashed open. He felt the kindling in his gut begin to burn and the sensation ran from his center to each extremity. His spear that had been carelessly discarded was now within reach and faster than a fox he had it in his hand and was charging.

The tip of the spear pushed through the monster with ease and the angry warrior reveled in the feel of the bowels coming lose and spilling to the dirt below. The expression on his prey's face went glassy and he withdrew his spear in triumph. He was too caught up in his victory to give heed to a shadow circling him. A weight, like lead, knocked him over.

A sickening thud sounded in his ears and he felt disoriented. There was more screaming.

As the black colored his vision, it dawned on him. It was his own voice.


	2. Chapter 2

There were precious few of them left. Chakotay sat on the edge of the river with his feet touching the water and he watched as B'Elanna scrubbed rocks over singed garments. After he had brutally avenged his father, another Cardassian had come from the woods. If his sister hadn't been alert with a weapon handy, there was no doubt he would have shared in his father's fate. Somehow she hauled his ass out of the village and when morning had come she cursed him a thousand times over. His arm was bruised from where she had taken out her ire.

Ayala and his wife Henley were sorting through pottery and various metal tools. There was nothing left of his village. The bed that he'd slept in was a charred stain on the ground and the bodies were disfigured in nauseating ways. After they had salvaged all they could they came to the river. Where else was there to go?

"We can rebuild," Jor assured.

Chakotay absently touched the tattoo on his forehead. His father's tattoo had marked him as chief. His own, before the night's events, had marked him as the next in line. In a breath, it had transformed into the sign of his authority. He was the leader of a broken tribe. The Cardassians had triumphed. Whatever other tribes were nearby would now be free to take their land and marry the women, train the children in their ways, and either kill or enslave the men.

He'd evaded death temporarily. His end was decided.

"There's no point in rebuilding. You should take everyone to the east. My grandfather's sister married one of the men in a tribe that way. Perhaps they have a long memory," Chakotay stated as he stood.

"Me? Where are you planning on going?" Jor half-accused.

The new warrior chief kept his eyes fixed on the four women laundering. "That's none of your concern."

"You know B'Elanna won't abandon you," the other man reminded. "And you should know I won't abandon her. I spoke to your father two days ago and after he had gone to the old woman on the hill we would have wed."

"That life is gone, Jor. However, the witch might have some insight on our enemy. Tradition demands that we consult her before battle," Chakotay thought out loud. "Gather Gerron, Ayala, and B'Elanna. We travel to the foothills. Tell everyone else to remain hidden and to tend to what they are able. Sustenance is our highest priority. I'm leaving you in charge."

Jor wanted to protest, but the decision had clearly been made. He made his way around to the small group, a mere sixteen souls, where he whispered instructions in the ears and motioned towards the reluctant leader. Normally B'Elanna would have argued and demanded Chakotay's attention. The look his eyes, the hard expression, kept everyone mute. There were no children present. It was a blessing, Chakotay justified to himself. No children meant no liabilities. The women were all capable and the men were trained to kill.

Without much gear it didn't take long for the contingent to be ready. The four warriors walked for the better part of the afternoon while the sun scorched down. They came to the shanty and out front, perched on a bench was a woman of many years. Her face was wrinkled and worn, her fingers were calloused and her knuckles protruded from the once slender digits. Her hair was gray and unkempt and she appeared not to notice the arrivals. She held a brush in her grip and was focused on a flat piece of parchment.

"Your father is with the spirits," she muttered finally.

Chakotay stepped forward. Kolopak had spoken of the woman with awe and reverence. He had always doubted the woman's abilities and even more so in seeing her withered form.

"I wish to lead a great battle against those who killed him and our people. I am chief and as is tradition, I seek your counsel."

"You don't want my advice," she indicted.

He couldn't keep a sigh from escaping his lips. "I have no intention of playing games. My father said you were a woman of great power, able to see and do things that could only be explained by the gods themselves. That said, I don't believe in magic. You may, however, have valuable information."

"Do you want validation for your vengeance? My sage insight says to go, find a place away from the Cardassians, and rebuild. They think you are gone. There is no need to go chasing after trouble," the hag instructed as she eyed him from her seat. The painting had long been forgotten though it was firmly in her clutches.

"How can you _say_ that? My father respected you!" Chakotay spat.

A hand on his arm kept him from going closer. He wrenched out of Ayala's grip and glared at the man who would hold him back.

"You may not think she has powers, but I do," his friend whispered.

"She's nothing but an old piece of wormwood," the chief hissed. "Bitter and worthless."

"Ah, I still have my hearing!" she announced with a raspy chuckle. "Your soul is dark and full of rage. You believe that the total annihilation of your enemy will slake your thirst. It won't. There is no justice on the Earth that can right the wrongs done to you. Your father. Your intended. They remain dead."

She put aside the objects in her hand and laboriously stood, hobbling over to the object of her chastisement. Surrounding her was a stench of sweat and sun and her breath was foul, but Chakotay couldn't step away. His muscles were as stone and his throat felt swollen. From a pocket within her garment the witch pulled a small vial and dipped her fingers in. Oil coated her digits and she touched his tattoo.

"Your guide forsakes you. From this time forward you will call and will not be heard. You will run and grow weary. Your prey will elude you and your enemies will track you. By their hand you will watch all your people die. Once there is none left, you will return to the dust by which you were created."

B'Elanna shoved forward and fell to her knees. "My brother doesn't believe, but we do. Don't punish us for his sins. There has to be a way to avoid this, some small mercy the spirits can grant us."

The witch considered the request of the woman and returned her critical eye on the immobile man.

"There exists a place where star-laden night sky meets fine-spun red clay. You must mark this place with the symbol on your brow. You will have one chance and one only to understand the meaning of peace," she relented.

The invisible hold on his throat was released and Chakotay sputtered. "What?"

"Where is this place? Where do we find it?" B'Elanna pleaded, her frustration and confusion peppering her voice.

"Be gone. That is not my concern."

The raven haired woman was going to continue, but an unnatural fog descended. The witch and her hovel were erased from his vision and Chakotay couldn't see his sister's form. He tripped when he attempted to move forward. Feeling around on the ground he cried out the names of those who had followed him, but he was met with unnatural quiet. He was alone.


	3. Chapter 3

The Cardassian woman was stooped low, plucking ripe berries from the bush. Chakotay crept along the tree line patiently. She was easy prey for his spear and he was sure he would be able to take her life without a sound. Three times he had tracked his enemies. Three times they had evaded him. The first time he had missed and by no small distance; a boy on his first hunt would have been more accurate. The second time a noise had startled him and when he returned to stalking, his target had vanished. The third time the strange fog from the witch's hut had returned and by the time it lifted the moon was high.

The last time B'Elanna had been terrified for him when he hadn't returned for dinner. He'd never seen her afraid of anything and it had unsettled him. He told her about the fog, hoping to assuage her fears, but instead she became furious. The fog had trapped them for a full day the last time. When they were released, they were weak from hunger and thirst. The tribe refused to speak with their chief once the story had been recounted and Chakotay was forced to eat and sleep separate from everyone.

This time would be different, he swore. It was pathetic that he was reduced to chasing a woman, but a Cardassian was a Cardassian. They hadn't made a distinction when they burned his home and raped his betrothed. There was no compassion for murders. Taking aim he prepared himself for the kill.

A reddish-orange blur in his peripheral vision made him lose his concentration. A wolf with black paws crossed his path and paused next to the heedless woman. He steadied his arm that had begun to tremble at the physical sight of his guide. Was she _guarding_ the woman?

"Leave," he commanded and the Cardassian woman jumped up and pivoted in a fluid motion.

At the sight of the spear, she uttered a shout in her language and began to run. Chakotay yelled in rage and dashed forward, his weapon at the ready. The she-wolf remained motionless and at the moment he should have stabbed her, she dissipated like smoke and he fell hard to the ground. He could taste the metallic tinge of blood in his mouth and the breath had been knocked out of him. He lay there, not wanting to face even more humiliation when he arrived back at camp empty handed.

The sky began to turn pink and he knew he couldn't wait any longer. He inspected himself for wounds and found that his lip had been split and he would no doubt be bruised. The trek back was arduous and he was relieved to see the smoke from the fire. He expected to be accosted by B'Elanna when he crossed the threshold, but everyone seemed somber.

"What's going on?" he inquired and that's when he saw the streaks down his sister's face. Henley was curled next to the young woman, avoiding any eye contact with Chakotay.

"Jor's dead," B'Elanna choked and Henley wrapped an arm around her.

Chakotay's heart began to pound against his ribs. "How?"

"He was hunting and we think he ran into a war party. Ayala found his body strung up," Henley explained softly, her eyes red and puffy.

"This has to end, brother," B'Elanna said in a low, hollow tone.

"What about our _people_? Our _father_?" Chakotay countered in a flare of disgust.

Ayala pressed his palm against his leader's shoulder. The gesture was both comforting and a subtle warning and the man's dark eyes bore holes into the warrior chief.

"It's not that simple. None of us have heard from our spirit guides since we spoke with the witch. Jor is dead and you have yet to bring us the head of a single Cardassian. At what point does the cost become too great? You've lost your betrothed and your father. Will you lose your sister too?"

The word made Chakotay's heart catch in his throat. His ragtag party was staring at him intently, waiting for him to decide. They were weaklings, every one of them, but he couldn't deny the veracity of the argument. They were suffering and they were too broken to take on a tribe as powerful as the Cardassians. His blood payment would have to be postponed and he took an unspoken oath not to forget what his enemy had done.

"Fine," he relented, throwing his hands in the air. "Pack up. We leave at dawn."

No one dared speak the entire night and Chakotay found sleep elusive. _Red clay, black sky_ , he repeated in his head. There was an abundance of the soil but deciphering where the sky and land met...he'd never seen such a thing except on a rare expedition that took him to the ocean. To traverse over so much water was impossible and yet, that's the only place he'd ever seen the sky touch the earth. Perhaps there was a secret island of red clay and...

He rolled over and snorted derisively. None of it made sense and the riddle kept him awake until he was aware of the first swathes of red beginning to brush away the night sky. Fires were extinguished and whatever could not be carried was left. This time the entire tribe hiked through the woods although the trek was filled with trepidation. Hours passed and they searched futilely for the shanty of the witch.

"It appears we're on our own," Chakotay said as he came to a full stop. "Perhaps we ought to - "

A howl in the distance.

He cocked his head and held his breath. A wolf baying and it sounded as though it were coming from the north. Without consulting anyone he made haste, forcing the rest to almost run to keep up. It was his spirit guide, he was certain of it. The need to see her was inexplicably strong, a craving he had to satisfy. Leaves and branches struck his face and arms, but he was heedless. His feet were stinging in protest and he was vaguely aware of shouts from Ayala.

They crossed over a rolling hill and discovered their path blocked by the thick, gray fog that had trapped them before. The she-wolf cry came from within the curtain.

"There," he gestured.

"You're crazy brother. The last time we were in that fog we were half dead by the time we came out. We'd be idiots to try it again," B'Elanna snapped.

Gerron echoed the sentiment. "Perhaps the witch has simply moved."

"You all wanted this and I hear my spirit guide. We have to go in there. Stay if you want," Chakotay threw over his shoulder and he started in.

The air was humid and he thought he was going to suffocate. His lungs ached in their inability to be full. He pressed onward. Time passed and he knew he was putting one foot in front of the other, but the view didn't change. He didn't even know if his people had followed him. Then, as he came to the point where he was prepared to admit defeat...

Sunlight.

He fell to his knees as the brightness overwhelmed him. The sounds of footsteps barely registered and he was about to speak when he felt something sharp jab him in his neck.

"Don't move." The masculine timbre was dispassionate and Chakotay dropped his spear. Slowly he lifted his hands up to demonstrate that he was no longer armed.

The emotionless voice spoke again. "Paris, Kim, round up the others. Let them know that we will not hesitate to kill them if they show any hostility."

"Please, we're not trying to encroach on anyone's territory. We were looking for someone and lost our way," he tried to explain, wishing that he could face his captor. He instinctively began pleading with the spirits that he hadn't fallen into a Cardassian ambush.

"You will be able to make your plight known to our leader. Now stand and walk."

Chakotay obeyed immediately. Everything in him wanted to fall to the ground and not move. The muscles throughout his body burned, but he had to keep on. His choices were limited. The terrain wasn't familiar at all to him and he questioned the wisdom of having attempted to traverse the fog. He heard the scuffling of people behind him and at one point a woman's defiant voice was heard and he was knew beyond a doubt it was B'Elanna.

The camp came into sight and there were several plumes of smoke. Around the fire was a bustle of men and women and he could see that the tents were placed in an orderly manner. Like his own tribe, he couldn't help but notice that they lacked children as well. They weren't Cardassian, but it was possible they had gone toe to toe with the villains, or worse, were allies of the enemy. Conversations around them went to furtive whispers as they were marched towards the largest of the tents. He was pushed to his knees and he dared not look anywhere but ahead.

A woman of slender build appeared from one of the flaps. She wore a reddish-brown tunic that reminded him of the coat of his wolf guide. It was a single piece of fabric that had no sleeves, was fitted at her waist, and stopped short of her knees. Her auburn hair was plaited and her ears were adorned with tiny gold orbs, two in each lobe. Other than that she was plain though authority exuded from her loudly and clearly.

"They look hungry, Tuvok," she commented after having assessed the group. Her eyes were a vivid blue and she addressed Chakotay. "When did you last eat?"

"I..." he was speechless. "I don't know. We left at dawn and we have been walking since. I don't even know if it's still the same day."

"Wildman, bring water and bread," she ordered. Satisfied that her command was being followed, she bent down to study her hostage. "Where are the rest of your people? I don't see more than a few over a dozen here."

"We are all that are left."

Her pity he had expected, but the sorrow in her face took him aback.

"I see," was all she said. Rising to her feet, she put her hands on her hips and addressed whoever was standing behind him. "Make arrangements for our guests. Send out an additional hunting party to see if we can't get some more food for dinner. After they are watered and rested, have their leader here come see me."

She retreated and Chakotay sagged down in relief. The adrenaline that had kept the exhaustion at bay was gone and while he had no inkling as to what would happen next, for the moment they were safe.


	4. Chapter 4

"Impressive, Chakotay," Kathryn praised as she circled the boar he'd managed to kill. "I haven't seen one this large the entire time we've been out here."

He had a self-satisfied air about him. "I doubt you will. I think this one found a secret stash of food. I wouldn't be surprised if it was all fat."

She chuckled. "Either way, I can't wait to smell it cooking. Your sister will be jealous she didn't get a chance to take it down herself."

"It'll only make her more determined to find one bigger," he responded and she gave a deep, throaty laugh. Her delight was infectious and he found himself smirking.

It had been a month since the fog and Kathryn's tribe had welcomed his with open arms once she'd heard his plight. He'd notably left out his own transgressions in his saga. He told himself it was because it wasn't any of her business though if he were honest with himself, he knew it was because he experienced some degree of shame. She was a woman of good humor with an easy disposition, always ready with something kind to say. Her people didn't hesitate to do what she requested and he'd heard no grumblings.

She was inspecting the carcass, her fingers working to open the jaw. There was a remarkable diligence that he naturally admired. A few strands of hair had come loose from her braid and she had a smudge of dirt on her forehead, a testament to her work ethic. She rose early and did chores alongside anyone who needed help.

"You're staring," she said, startling him out of his observations.

He coughed. "Was I? I suppose I'm marveling at my handiwork."

"Modest too. Tell me, is there anything else I should know?" she teased and Chakotay held out a hand to help her up. A small indentation in the dirt under her feet caught her off guard and she tripped.

He swiftly moved to catch her, his arm deftly winding around her waist and he couldn't help but inhale her feminine scent. Her frame was marvelously light and...

"Thank you," she breathed. Her lips were close enough that if he were so inclined he could brush his against them. They were full and flush and he idly thought about how they would taste.

Gently he put her aright and reluctantly stepped back. "I should go see how Ayala is doing with the fire."

"Of course," she agreed, her touch lingering longer than usual and he wondered if his cheeks betrayed his thoughts.

As he left her and ambled over to Ayala, he considered the excuses he'd been making to avoid leaving. No one had said anything to him, but his own conscience accused him. His goal had been to find assistance in exacting revenge against the Cardassians. Each morning he resolved that he would make his plea with Kathryn and every evening he went to bed without having done it. Chakotay had considered the possibility that _she_ was a witch. Whenever he was in her presence she found a way to make him smile. He would inevitably tell himself that it wasn't the right time to bring up such a somber topic. Her joy seemed sacred.

Ayala was assisted by Henley and several of Kathryn's own. His wife's visage was full and round, not gaunt like it had been before the fog that had brought them there. He stopped short of the cooking fire and settled on a log. Vengeance paled in comparison to the gladness he saw. It didn't seem right to take them away from this life despite the fact that it bothered him how swiftly his people had traded in their identity. Back and forth he wrestled with what to do. His spirit guide had remained absent and he took it as evidence that he wasn't worthy of the same happiness.

The only solution he could come to was that he needed to leave. He would wait until just before first light and slip out. Kathryn would accept his people, she already had. This fate was his own.

By the time dinner was ready, Chakotay had planned it all in his head. He sat next to Kathryn, picking at meat on the bone. He surveyed the people around him. He wanted to soak it into his skin so he could remember.

"You've been quiet. What's on your mind?" Kathryn asked softly, sliding herself closer to him so that their shoulders were touching.

"It's this food, it's too delicious to not completely focus on," he joked. He knew she saw it wasn't real when her hand reached for his forearm.

"You're a man of many secrets, Chakotay. I pretend not to notice the cold in your eyes or hear the murmurings in your sleep when I pass by on my watch. There are some things only the spirits are allowed to know about us. Tonight, however, I can't ignore what I see."

The firelight flickered in her gaze and it hurt to be laid bare. "I don't belong here."

"You could. Your people do."

He glanced at her petite grip that burned into his skin. "I have to find a way back to where we came from. I have to avenge...my spirit guide has forsaken me. All that made me who I am is gone and I have to destroy the ones who took it from me." His tone had gone as sharp as flint and he realized that Kathryn was holding her breath.

When she released it, her body shuddered ever so slightly. "You've said none of this place looks familiar. How do you even know you can find where you came from?"

"Shouldn't I at least make the attempt?"

Kathryn withdrew and turned her face towards the rowdy group that had gathered opposite of them. "I can't tell you what to do, but if your only reason is revenge, then I would say that you shouldn't. We're given one life by the gods and then we return to the ground. This bitterness honors no one, least of all your father."

A tingle of fury coursed through him. He shoved his plate to the ground and grabbed her wrist harshly. "You listen to me, woman. You should know when to let a tiger sleep. I have already been made the fool by a witch with useless words. I won't have you castrate me on top of it." He practically threw her back, not heeding the arrival of Tuvok, prepared to protect his leader.

"Let him go," she stated and Chakotay huffed off into the woods.

He wandered aimlessly until the sounds of the camp had gone dead. The night air helped cool his blood though it did nothing to lessen his resolve. His footfalls roused no one and he returned to his tent to gather his meager belongings. Somehow he would need to gather provisions, enough to last him the first few days. Deliberate planning was vital to his success. He'd been hotheaded and impulsive. This time he was tempered by a month of rest and his heart had distanced him from the initial burn.

"I was going to ask you to stay."

Chakotay froze, his back to her. He should have remembered her habit of guarding her flock while they slept. She would have seen him return and she would have known what he was plotting. He inhaled deeply, gathering the courage to face her.

The edges of her mouth were down turned, her jaw was set, and she had crossed her arms across her chest. Guilt flooded him from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.

"I told you I was leaving."

"In the middle of the night like a thief?" she charged, her tone low and even. "Like a coward?"

"I am _not_ a coward," he countered, punctuating his declaration with clenched teeth. He closed his eyes and scrubbed his chin as he fought to regain equilibrium. "This is why I can't stay. _This_ won't be satisfied until I've had my blood payment. I can't be trusted to lead my people."

She closed the gap between them. "Look at me." When he didn't meet her gaze she touched his cheek. "Look at me, Chakotay."

The shadows from the single candle played across her face. In the dim light the tresses that framed her face were the color of red clay and the flame's flicker in her eyes was like stars in the night sky. Mesmerized, he curled a lock around his forefinger.

Kathryn was entirely unabashed by his naked astonishment. "For as long as this tribe can remember we've wandered as nomads and we're surrounded by those who consider us nuisances at best to be ignored. Then you arrived. Our people are stronger together. _I'm_ stronger. Let the past go. Let yourself forgive the evil done to you, not for them, but for B'Elanna and the others. Hatred leads to death. I _need_ you," she implored.

The squall of his private turmoil broke and he buried his face in her neck, letting the tears come. She held him as he wept. When the worst of the torrent had subsided, he drew her down to the floor and confided in her all that he had omitted in his history. He described the loss of his friends and the woman he would have married. Chakotay recounted the fear and the fury, the conflict and the self-doubt. In hushed tones he described the witch, her curse, her prophecy, and his inability to relinquish his quest. When he confessed to Kathryn the way he felt in her presence, she blushed in a way that displayed her vulnerability.

"Does that...does that mean you'll stay here?" she broached after all was said and done.

"For as long as you'll have me," he vowed. "I won't leave your side. I'll find harmony with my past. For you."

She leaned over and pressed her lips to his, and he responded in kind, embracing her. They kissed intimately and with fervent passion. His heart raced and he slid his palm up her thigh, a presumption that caused Kathryn to pull back.

"If we do this...my tribe will consider us married. It's considered a gift to be given once."

He nodded with a sober understanding. "Mine too."

"They'll expect a wedding feast," she continued, encouraging his advances with a tug on his elbow.

"With alcohol of course."

"And lots of..." she trailed off as he grazed her lips again.

That night, Chakotay slumbered peacefully. They remained entangled with each other until dawn when he felt her rise to see to her duties. He knew it would take longer than usual given what she needed to tell the others although he was caught off guard with how late he ended up sleeping. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, stretched and then hunted for his discarded clothing.

The rustle from the entrance to his tent was followed by Kathryn's entrance. Her expression was bright if not a tiny bit mischievous.

"You should have woken me. There has to be plenty to do," he chided as he flirtatiously grabbed her by the waist and forced her to the furs they had slept on.

"I thought you could use the rest," she retorted looking up at him.

He traced her jaw line and slipped his hand to the back of her neck at which point she flinched in discomfort.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I..." she hesitated. "I had a dream last night."

"Oh?"

Hesitating for a second, she sat up and turned her back to him. Kathryn lifted her braid to reveal a small tattoo. The skin was red and the black ink in the shape of Chakotay's tattoo contrasted it distinctly. He was mindful not to touch the patch even as his fingers hovered over it.

"In retrospect I should have talked to you first, but I wanted it to be a surprise," she disclosed. When he didn't reply, she dropped her hair and rotated her torso to face him. "I didn't do something offensive...I didn't think...B'Elanna didn't..."

"No. No," he assured her. "I'm honored. I'm humbled."

Her lips were upturned and her countenance beamed. The moment passed and she covered his hand with her own. "There's still a lot to do..."

"I suppose we should get started," he agreed.

Neither moved and a saucy expression crossed Kathryn's visage. "You know...the next few days...I mean the hunting party will get the food and I'm sure we can send someone trade with a neighboring tribe for the alcohol..."

He raised an eyebrow at her and she laughed.

"I don't think anyone will miss us if we don't show up until lunch," she clarified as she urged him back and straddled him.

"Who am I to argue with my chief?"

Bending down she kissed him confidently. She paused for only a breath and twisted her mouth a smirk. "Good answer."


	5. Epilogue

_A-koo-chee-moya. I am far from the sacred places of my grandfathers, and from the bones of my people, but perhaps there is one powerful being who will embrace this man and give him the answers he seeks._

The cool breeze caressed Chakotay's skin and he inhaled salty air. He had no sense of urgency, no desperate need, and he settled calmly on the beach. The rolling waves crashed into the shore and he sifted sand through his fingers.

 _You called._ A majestic red wolf appeared beside him, her eyes soulful and probing

"It's been too long," he replied. "Much has happened."

 _I have seen it. A woman with a lovely mane._

"My wife. She's a great warrior and she has brought me peace."

A sense of pleasure washed over Chakotay. It reminded him of the scent of roasted pig amid a bed of herbs and the comfort of an open sky under which to sleep. These were things that pleased his spirit guide.

 _She has shown you a path other than the one you thought you needed to walk._

"I have let go of my hatred. I have forgiven those who wronged me. In this, there is peace," he declared.

 _You have what you need though you will visit me again soon._ There was a playfulness in her tone and he studied his guide with a question on the tip on his tongue. _Many parents seek their guides when little ones refuse to sleep._

"Little..."

 _Farewell, Chakotay_.

And he laughed.

The End


End file.
